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On the radio the other day
I heard that song, when it would play
We said it was “our song”

And even though try as I might
The lyrics just did not seem right
In fact, they were all wrong

My mind peered back into the past
'Eternal Flames' don't always last
Tides shift before too long

A smirk of sadness came to me
Best friend became my enemy
Lives built; Destroyed and gone

But fog erased; Think of today
and tell myself that it’s okay
Through pain I will be strong

Because the radio still plays
I hold out hope maybe someday
Again, I'll have ‘our song’

Written: May 8, 2018

All rights reserved
nabi 나비 Apr 2018
pretty boy get off the stage
the show is over
it's been done and played
take off that mask and be yourself
and stop trying to be like everybody else
nobody is waiting for an encore
so why are you?
step out of character and be the you we all desire
why are you refusing?
because the stage is comfortable?
well, pretty boy, the world is not a stage
the world is streets and aisles where the acting doesn't count
nobody wants to be around a facade
people want genuine emotions and reactions
and the character you chose is not you

so pretty boy its time
take off the costume
and step into your own shoes
don't let how you think you need to be seen
decide how you act
go with your instinct
and pretty boy just be you
Merry Feb 2018
Dearest Ophelia:
Daughter of the murdered man
Sister of the murdered man
Lover the man who murdered your men
This is an ode to your fictitious life

Ophelia, my love, you are divine
Oceanic and loving, you are the blessed petals
Of a plucked flower in hopes of a fortune

Irrational, eccentric,
Your whims
Become the whims of others

The ickle darling
Who needs help most
Dying a death so jarring

Sinking, sinking, thinking
Into the murky depths unknown
By the Queen’s words not shown

By rue,
By rosemary,
By fennel,
By *****,
By columbine,

By regret,
By remembrance,
By foolishness, flattery, and adultery,
By love,
By faith and hope

Her judgement most bitter-hearted
Her judgement most secretive and dry
Her judgement most sweet-scented

Lost to a fit of laughter
By the maiden’s wit
Her act comes to a close
With mermaid-like prose
Brianna Nov 2017
I think of him when its raining and the weather is gloomy and the clouds come in the surround me just like he did for a short, short while.

I imagine he is sitting somewhere in New York right now drinking some awful Gin and Tonic drink , writing something about some girl in a bar.

Or he's walking with his jacket high up over his neck day dreaming of his long lost Juliet or maybe he's scheming something more like Macbeth.

I like to think he thinks of me from time to time, the girl he sent poems to on Valentines Day, the girl he talked about loving the ocean more than life.

I know it's a bit narcissistic and a bit conceited but I like to think he know's I think of him from time to time.

When La Vie En Rose comes on and when I'm walking down the freshly rained on streets humming a tune.

When I am alone in my room contemplating how I couldn't make things work with good people or when I re read those poems I keep hidden away in my closet.

I imagine he's sitting in New York at some trendy, dive bar, making friends with the bartender telling stories about his life.

I imagine he's writing something about a girl he's currently in love with and the features that makes him swoon because one day he will give those poems to her for Valentines day as well.

I imagine that the day he finds the Juliet to his Romeo- he won't need to think of the girl whose too far away and in love with the ocean anymore.
TD Jun 2017
Fading pixelation plays
its reflection for a fool.
Outlined by the sharper pen,
the jutting mammoths
pin clouds or smoke to sky.

And survive.
Picture prompt:
Julie Grenness Jan 2017
From where do our  morals spring?
Quite an intangible conditioning,
In society, a necessary thing,
What is your philosophy of life,
or creed?  To live with no dull strife,
But who invented morality anyway?
In yet another societal day,
Who does write morality plays?
Feedback welcome.
Terry Collett May 2016
I love Mr Toby,
Miss Tibby says,
lying on her bed,
with her red and white
flowered two-piece
bed suit on,
with legs raised,
lifting him skywards
in her hands,
(she fresh showered).

Mr Tibby,
she calls,
kissing his paws,
a bluey-white,
where will you,
my darling,
sleep tonight?

He wags his tail,
either from fright
or trying his charms,
dangling from
her hands and arms,
and sexily meows
oft repeatedly.

She shakes her head,
pushing her black
haired head, into
the marshmallowy
pink pillow.

Where are you going
to lay your head, My Toby?
She says, sensing
his tail wag
between her thighs,
( a bit like Henry did,
but he told lies),
you can't sleep with me,
you naughty ****,
can't nest your
furry head beside
my head,
in my soft
and snugly bed,
can't sleep here.

He purrs loudly;
she can sense the slight
vibrations along her arms.

Bad boy,
trying your charms,
she says, (just like Henry
did purring between
my thighs with those
drinkable eyes).

Mr Toby begins to wiggle,
either to be put
down and to lie,
or run away and play.

She smiles,
and kisses his nose,
and puts him on the bed
beside her head,
and he snuggles down
against her *******,
purring mildly,
(just as Henry did,
but he more wildly).
If you're my girl
You'll know
Fighting for my attention was the expectation but I brought the actual reality
They still owe me a check
But they gave some to Beck
And I'm cool with that
The rain is just here because I told it to be
Just for you
No gimmicks, just intentions with a little background
I do love a good play though
When I'm not feeling a movie
I'd rather watch a more downed to earth one
That is more artistic than Shakespeare's way with words
Even he had a difficult time explaining the beauty of plays
Hell if I can, he was the pioneer
I'm just trying to enjoy this whole idea now
But you know what I'm all about
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